Often, the loudest truths from Heaven come wrapped in the gentle rhythms of everyday life. It’s not always in the fire or the storm, the conference, or the mountaintop moment—but in the car trip, the immigration queue, the broken trailer, or the quiet sweetness of marriage rediscovered that God whispers most profoundly: “I am here, and I am speaking.”
This is a story about stories. Not just ours, but His. Not just the ones we tell, but the ones that are told through us. Stories that don’t preach from pulpits but whisper through proximity. That teach not through rules but through rhythms. This was the heartbeat of a trip taken not for ministry, but for family—yet along the highway of holiday, God’s voice came loudly clear.
When we give ourselves to family, God draws close. Why? Because He is a Father. And when we shape our homes, our churches, and our communities around the values of relationship, honor, and conversation, the Father’s voice isn’t buried in the noise—it sings above it.
One of the themes that emerged so deeply from this’ time away was this: hard is holy. Obedience rarely travels the easy road. Callings aren’t cruise liners; they’re sailboats that catch the wind of God’s Spirit. They demand discomfort, courage, and trust. Bringing four kids across the ocean—navigating motion sickness, chaos, and culture shock—was not convenient. But it was deeply formative. Taking your children with you into the dreams God’s called you to—it’s hard. And it’s holy.
As parents, as leaders, as disciples, we cannot just tell the next generation how to live; we must show them. It’s not the law that transforms us—it’s love experienced in proximity. And often, lessons are not taught but caught. Wisdom emerges on the sidewalks of New York, in laughter on roller coasters, and in the sacred slowness of togetherness.
Another theme emerged behind the wheel—or more accurately, as we took our hands off it. A rented SUV equipped with “Blue Cruise” became more than a novelty feature—it became a parable. Hands-off driving, while unnerving at first, offered a startling revelation: letting go doesn’t mean losing control; it means trusting the One who already has it.
Many of us live white-knuckled lives—gripping our roles, our relationships, our ministries with all our strength, afraid that if we loosen our grip, everything will fall apart. But following Jesus isn’t about being in control. It’s about fixing our eyes on Him and letting His Spirit do the navigating. The goal isn’t to dictate the journey. It’s to enjoy it—eyes forward, hearts expectant, lives surrendered. For our God knows how to handle the corners. He knows how to accelerate and when to slow. He’s not looking for perfect drivers—He’s asking simply for attention: “Lift your gaze to Me.”
Your plans may be good, but His purposes are better.
And so, what if your next breakthrough isn’t in doing more, but letting go? What if the grace you’re longing for lives in surrender? The Blue Cruise of the Spirit doesn’t demand that we prove ourselves. It invites us to trust the One who sees what we don’t, who gauges the traffic ahead, who weaves us into the right lane at the right time.
This is also a story of church—not as an institution, but as a family. A reminder that this community you stand alongside week after week is not a crowd. It’s your family in Christ, your fellow road-travelers. They carry gifts you need and stories you haven’t heard yet. And when one looks left and sees nothing, another can whisper from the right, “Turn your head, the view is glorious.”
What would it look like to live like that? To be people who prioritize presence over performance, flow over force, and relationship over result? To travel with others at God’s appointed pace, not out of comparison or control—but from a place of grace and mutual honor?
God is speaking. In motion sickness and spontaneous joy. In family rhythms and roadside reflections. In speed limits and in Blue Cruise. The world may rush to arrive, but the kingdom flows with rhythm, not hustle. With pace, not pressure.
May you hear the Shepherd’s voice in your story this week. May you trust His path, even if it’s unfamiliar. And may you let go of the wheel…and lift up your eyes.
The road ahead is grace-filled. The stories are still unfolding. And yes, the view is beautiful on the right.
Watch the full message and explore more on our YouTube & Podcast channels
THE LINC COLLECTIVE 
Leave a comment